There's This Boy
by Lucius Malloy
Summary: From the moment you realised it was happening, you were pretty sure it was going to be the death of you. Being friends with Lily Evans, that is. Which was why you felt like you'd swallowed a bucketful of ice when she said, one day, ever so casually, "So there's this boy…"


From the moment you realised it was happening, you were pretty sure it was going to be the death of you.

Being friends with Lily Evans, that is.

Because early one morning in October, when she slipped into Transfiguration a few minutes late and slid into the empty seat beside you with a small smile, you realised you were definitely friends with Lily Evans. You realised this because you had noticed she wasn't in class when McGonagall had begun her lesson and had deliberately saved a seat for her, and because she had known you were saving the seat for her and had taken it without a second thought. That was the kind of thing friends did, right?

It had sort of crept up on you, you rationalised. Being Head Students, you were forced to spend time together, and friendship crept up on you as a logical extension of that time.

It made sense, but that didn't mean it wasn't slow torture.

Because here was Lily Evans, the girl you'd been dreaming of – on some level – since first year. Granted, in first year, your dreams were of a slightly different sort, but Lily Evans had always been special. And now she was acting like you'd always been friends, like it wasn't weird that she'd wave you over when you went down to the Great Hall for lunch and just start talking about whatever was on her mind.

Your other friends quickly grew tired of listening to you talk about this new development.

"So?" Peter asked, not really caring about your woes – you were, after all, keeping him from supper.

"She wants you, mate," Sirius said with a grin.

"Embrace it, Prongs. She's being nice to you. You're being nice to her. Don't ruin it." You decided to listen to Remus.

But you were certain it was going to kill you.

Now that you had accidentally become friends, it wasn't weird for her to touch you, occasionally, in an offhand manner. She would brush dirt off your shoulder, or elbow you gently when you mocked her (friendly mocking, of course), or put a hand on your arm to remind you it wasn't worth it when a Slytherin tried to provoke you into attacking them. And every time you would swear your heart stopped, just for a second, as her skin came into contact with yours, even as you knew that it was nothing but platonic.

And still, those jolts from physical proximity were nothing compared to the tugs on your heartstrings when she began opening up to you emotionally, and you couldn't quite comfort her in the way you wanted to.

She started by telling you about her sister. One night you were working on your Charms essays side-by side in the Gryffindor common room when she began to talk. It was just the two of you – Sirius deliberately eschewed any and all things academic, Remus had gone to bed some time earlier, and Peter, being something of a follower, had followed. Lily's other friends, Lucy and Rose, were in Ravenclaw, and therefore probably writing the very same essay in Ravenclaw Tower on the other side of the castle.

"I don't get along with my sister, you know," she started, continuing with the sentence she was writing as if she hadn't said anything at all.

Curious, you set down your quill. "No?"

"No. She thinks I'm a freak."

You weren't quite sure how to respond to that, so you went for a joke. "You mean she's one of those gingers-don't-have-souls types of people?"

That got him an elbow in the ribs. "No. She doesn't… approve of magic."

"Doesn't approve of magic? How can anyone not approve of magic?" The mere thought shocked you.

She smiled at your incredulity. "She's a muggle, James. And a fairly close-minded one at that. I know for a fact that she's still wary of the Indian bloke that lives down the street. It stands to reason that she'd react badly to me being… different."

"But you're not different!" you exclaimed. "You're still the same person you've always been, you've always had magic. She's your sister! How can she just…"

"James," she said. "It's fine. I'm fine. I've processed it. I've accepted it. Seriously."

"Then why did you bring it up?" you asked, confused.

"We're friends. Friends know things about each other. I thought it would be a good start."

"I… okay." In return, you told her about how you had wanted to be a professional Quidditch player since the first game your father had taken you to. You had been seven years old. You neglected to mention that your father had died the next year. You had processed it, and you had accepted it, and you were fine, but you didn't want Lily to feel like she had pressured you into sharing something that personal. So you matched her nonchalance with your own.

The next time she talked about her sister, however, she wasn't quite as nonchalant.

You hadn't seen her all day, and you were worried, so you checked the map. You located her in the room allocated for Prefects meetings and other various Head Student duties, and took off at a pace resembling a run, barely avoiding running into McGonagall on the way. Muttering an apology, you continued, not stopping until you burst into the room.

She was sitting by the window, staring into the darkness outside. There were tear tracks on her cheeks, but her eyes were dry.

Something inside you ached.

"Lily?" you asked, tentative, testing the waters.

She turned to face you, but didn't say anything.

"Lily, what's wrong?"

"Petunia," she said, then ran out of steam. She took a breath. "Petunia," she tried again, "is getting married. Petunia is getting married and didn't even tell me. I heard it from my mum, and even she wasn't supposed to tell me."

"Christ, Lily," you said.

"Yeah," she said.

"Are you—" you began, but she interrupted you.

"Am I okay? No, probably not. I'll be fine, though."

"Lily."

She looked up when you said her name, her eyes finding yours.

"I mean it, James. I told you, I've accepted it. This is just… a setback. I just need a minute."

You stood there, unsure of what you should do. You wanted to go over to her, to hold her, to let her cry on your shoulder, but it didn't look like she would let you do that.

"I just need a minute," she repeated, and you knew she wanted you to leave her to collect herself, so you turned to go.

"James," she said, when you had one hand on the doorknob. You turned to look at her. "Thank you. For coming to find me."

"Of course," you said, and left her with her thoughts.

And so it went. Little by little, you revealed parts of your life to each other, until one day you were able to say that you really, truly knew Lily Evans. It wasn't a position you'd ever envisioned yourself in, but nevertheless, one you'd hoped for ever since you first laid eyes on her on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters over six years ago. Because even then, you'd known that Lily Evans was perfect.

Which was why you felt like you'd swallowed a bucketful of ice when she said, one day, ever so casually, "So there's this boy…"

You knew what it meant when someone said _there's this boy_. There was exactly one thing a girl could mean when she said _there's_ _this_ _boy_, and it was that the person she was talking to was going to hear all about this boy, who was so incredibly wonderful but at the same time made her life miserable.

You felt like you'd swallowed a bucketful of ice, but you were her friend. "Oh?" you asked, casual as anything.

"He's… I just…" Lily struggled to find the words. You gave her what you hoped was an encouraging smile.

"It's so stupid," she finally said. "People shouldn't be able to make you feel like this."

You fought the urge to grimace. She was serious. That couldn't be good.

"I shouldn't search every room I enter just to see if he's in it. I shouldn't be able to sense the moment he does enter it. I shouldn't have trouble forming coherent sentences around him. It just doesn't make sense, you know?"

You had to agree with her on that, mainly because you recognised all of those feelings. And they really did not make any sense.

"I shouldn't spend this much time staring at him, just wondering what it would feel like to touch him."

You suppressed a groan.

"I shouldn't have to talk in riddles around him just to be able to get out what I'm trying to say," she continued, almost muttering.

You perked up. Riddles? Could she be…?

You fought to keep your voice casual. "So, do I know this boy?"

Lily flushed, looking down at the table. "I should hope so," she said, looking up again. You refused to meet her gaze, afraid of what you might see.

"Oh, goddamn it," she muttered. "James Potter, would you look at me for one bloody second so I can kiss you?" she asked irritably. She didn't wait for you to react before practically grabbing your face and making you look at her. You barely had time to process what was happening before her lips were on yours, and it was everything you had ever wanted.

She leaned back a little and rested her forehead on yours. "Of course it's you, you idiot," she said affectionately. "Honestly, give me a little credit here."

You were still smiling when she kissed you again.


End file.
